


as easily as a lover

by hydrangeamaiden



Series: Grimmnet Collection [1]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Impregnation, Light Bondage, Oral Sex, Oviposition, facesitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:36:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21518836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrangeamaiden/pseuds/hydrangeamaiden
Summary: They didn’t have to kiss. They are, at most, friends who have never discussed a potential relationship, never got to that point. Grimm kisses her as easily as a lover who has had her for years and years and years.
Relationships: Grimm/Hornet (Hollow Knight)
Series: Grimmnet Collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1551010
Comments: 4
Kudos: 54





	as easily as a lover

Inside the tent, Hornet wouldn’t have known how cold it was outside. At nightfall, a drizzle had settled over Dirtmouth. The troupe on the fringe of town is the only place that isn’t shrouded in mist. Its crimson glow makes her own cloak look dull in comparison, and hers was weaved by the finest Weaver silks. Just outside the front entrance, she shakes the water off herself. The steads standing on either side eye her curiously, for what would a lone bug be doing here in the dead of night?

That’s what Hornet has been asking herself all the way over here. Before they can ask, she pushes back the tent flap and heads inside.

She’s surprised to see the troupe musician playing his accordion in the main hall, with not a hint of fatigue or boredom. Feeling wary, she gives him wide berth, but she cannot go unnoticed in here. The music squeaks to a halt, and the musician speaks to her.

“Hrmm…If you are looking for the Master, he should be upstairs,” he tells her in a deep rumble. Hornet nods politely, and moves on. She really should have gone looking for a back entrance. It would have been easier to find than the upstairs, which could be accessed from any number of crawl ways in the ceiling.

It doesn’t take her long to find the right path, because Grimm has left markers for her. They come in the form of red handkerchiefs, tied to the tent poles and hanging from the ceiling. Hornet climbs up the wall and into a tunnel tall enough for her to stand in. Down a winding maze she is led, all the way to a polished wooden door with an engraved red frame. There’s a brass knocker an arm’s length above her head; she scarcely finishes the second knock, when the door swings inwards.

Grimm has the kind of presence that draws in the eye, setting off a sort of exclamation mark in a bug’s head. What Hornet had first noticed about him was his red-banded torso, of all things, because that’s what she’s at eye level with. The doorway frames him like a portrait. He bows out from his canvas, a hand on his chest and the other hidden somewhere in his cloak. Or are they wings?

“What a pleasure it is to see you,” Grimm rasps. Before she can even curtsy, he throws out his hand for her to take. “How glad I am that you could make it.”

“It was naught but a walk across town,” Hornet says, and puts her hand in his. She shouldn’t be surprised when he kisses it, considering the circumstances under which she has come to him, but she cannot stop her shell from coloring. “Besides, I was the one who first suggested this.”

“And I am the one who insisted when you hesitated. Come in, come in.” Grimm pulls her into the room.

Like a stone on a pickling jar, the door swings shut behind them. She thought the rest of the tent was lavish, but this room is fit for a castle. Velvet curtains hang artistically about the walls and across the ceiling, most notably encircling a plush bed. In the hanging lanterns are crimson flames, casting a cold glow across the bottle and glasses resting on a low table. The only other furniture aside from that is a chaise lounge, large enough to fit two people comfortably. No chairs, nothing that could only seat one person.

Hornet takes a seat on the chaise, and inspects the bottle. It is made of dark blue glass, with a label that has long since worn away with time. He even has a bottle opener, so she helps herself. There’s a fine mist when she opens it, followed by a pleasant, heady scent. She’d never mistake the smell of alcohol. It’s hard for her to believe that he went that far for it. Despite his power, he seems more suited for decadence than roughing it underground. The ornateness in which he carries himself feels more suited to the Hallownest that existed long ago, when bugs gilded themselves and thought they would never die and be forgotten.

But then Grimm lands beside her, shoulder to shoulder, and he simply becomes a man who needs a drink. They sit leaning against each other, sipping from their flute glasses and integrating themselves into the room.

“Did you get this from the Pleasure House?” Hornet asks, after her second drink.

“Not myself, no. I sent the dear Ghost on an errand,” Grimm replies. He’s more interested in swirling his wine around in its glass than actually drinking it. It’s a good thing, too, or he would’ve spat out his drink laughing at Hornet’s pinched frown.

“You didn’t tell them. You didn’t.”

“No! No! Of course not!” Grimm puts a hand to his mouth. “Now there’s no need to act like it’s a scandal, dear. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I like my privacy.”

“I know.” Grimm drains his glass, and pours another. He bobs the ankle of his crossed leg in time to whatever melody is playing inside his head—or the accordion faint from downstairs. Hornet starts her fourth glass, which he comments on: “Do you drink often?”

“No. I actually—” Hornet hiccups. “Excuse me. I’ve seldom had the chance to enjoy this sort of luxury.”

“Things have calmed down now, though. You should treat yourself, or at least...let _me_ treat you.” He leans in close enough for her to feel his hot breath against her neck. There’s a flush across his white face that she knows isn’t from embarrassment. In spite of herself, she giggles when his face falls into her shoulder. She’s getting tipsy, too.

“You’ve had enough to drink, Grimm. Go home,” she teases, trying to push him off of her. His considerable size means he falls dramatically against her. “This wine cannot be strong enough to make a Higher Being lose his composure. Please.”

She lets him fall against the chaise, and returns their glasses to the table. With those safely out of the way, she turns back to see him reclined against the cushions with his arms above his head. His lean torso is on full display, as is the inside of his cloak. Without even meaning to, she has ended up staring. It’d be easy to blame the drinks for that, but she’d be lying to herself.

“My body burned up the alcohol,” Grimm explains. He sweeps a hand over his thigh. One knee is tucked in front of the other in a display that accentuates his hips, and the length of his legs. His fingertips just barely make contact with his carapace, and she can’t help imagining what that would feel like on her own body. “Do you like what you see?”

She does. She’d like it even if she were blind, even if she hated Grimm’s guts. It’s embarrassing how much she likes it. Not just his natural beauty, but the way he poises himself. He is a performer, an entertainer, and knows just how to display himself. And she’s _falling for it_. In a trance, she sits by him and allows an arm around her waist. It’s a good thing she’s seated, because her legs suddenly feel weak.

“You’re so tense,” Grimm coos, stroking up and down her back. He shifts onto his back, and pulls her so that she is half-laying on top of him. It must be the Nightmare Heart itself that she hears beating in his chest. “There’s nothing wrong with having carnal desires. Don’t you deserve to feel good?”

“You would do well to remember why we’re here,” Hornet reminds him. She runs a finger along his chest plates, and he catches her hand. With utmost delicacy, he kisses each of her knuckles, and then the back of her hand. Hornet, on the verge of losing herself to this, forces herself upright. “Troupe Master, I didn’t come here to start an affair.”

“How cold. Shall I warm you up?” Grimm cackles when Hornet puts her hands over her face. “You’re so easy to tease!”

“I should leave right now,” Hornet fumes.

“Oh? Is there someone else who has offered their services?” When Grimm asks this, Hornet goes quiet. He squeezes her hands, pressing his thumbs into her palms. She could leave, and he would let her, and they would both be fine with that. “I simply want us to enjoy each other’s company. This arrangement of ours wouldn’t be fun if we weren’t. Could you be nervous?”

“Maybe so.” Hornet’s shoulders slump. It’s one thing to imagine it, but to be touched is completely different. It is exhilarating and terrifying, even when she’s the one straddling him, when they haven’t even reached the bed. Which he is carrying her to right now, the way one holds a new bride.

Oh. _Oh_.

Grimm lies her down and draws the curtain, before climbing into the bed himself. Hornet is on her back, as still as a corpse, with her hands folded over her chest. He kneels at her side, palms depressing the mattress on either side of her. He bends at the elbows to kiss her between the eyes, each cheek, down her jawline. His tongue flicks first against her mouth and then searchingly inside of it. Hornet extends her pedipalps into his mouth in turn. This goes on until she’s out of breath, and he pulls away with a string of saliva between them.

They didn’t have to kiss. They are, at most, friends who have never discussed a potential relationship, never got to that point. Grimm kisses her as easily as a lover who has had her for years and years and years. He cups her shell and mouths at her neck until she’s holding back laughter; he smiles against her slender, sensitive chitin, and slips a hand under her cloak. It’s not what she’s expecting. He digs his fingers into her side, and laughter gushes forth from her. In her surprise, she knees Grimm in the gut.

“I ought to tie you up!” Hornet cries, holding her sides protectively. Grimm is howling with laughter. His half-hearted struggles when she pounces him are still enough to hold her at bay.

“Oh, but I’ve yet to have my fun with you,” Grimm cackles. He pulls Hornet to his chest, and runs a hand down her back. She feels him pulling up the hem of her cloak, and she immediately reddens. He fondles her backside and then one of her thighs, while remarking on her figure. “What a slight thing you are. And such a smooth carapace. You must be taking good care of it.”

“It’s not unusual for me to end up at a different end of the Kingdom by sunset,” Hornet says with a shiver. She feels his fingers prodding between her legs and quickly finding her wet slit. “If I didn’t wash daily I would—_ahhh_.”

While she was speaking, Grimm found her clitoris. It was always difficult for her to get off on her own, for whatever reason; this is a rare sensation and welcome sensation for her. Grimm holds her to him by the small of her back, doing nothing more than fingering her while she moans into his shoulder. Her cloak, which had provided her much warmth on the way over, now feels uncomfortably hot. The rest of her awareness has focused on the feeling of Grimm’s fingers, roaming her insides. And it’s not just her slit, either: he slides a finger around the rim of her other two holes, causing her breath to hitch in equal parts pain and pleasure.

“Be careful of my spinnerets,” she gasps. He complies, and continues to attend to her other two openings. Something hot and hard presses between her thighs, and Grimm makes a sound like rocks grating together. Her heart had been racing before, but now the anticipation is almost unbearable. She’s half-expecting him to push her down and take her right there.

There is the question, however, of whether or not she really wants him to get on with it. To have finally gotten comfortable only for their dalliance to end up being a but a fleeting moment in the night. It then occurs to her that she could prolong this as long as she wants, until neither of them can take it anymore.

Hornet imprints a kiss onto Grimm’s neck, savoring the feel of his pulse under her mouth. It quickens with each kiss, and oh Wyrm, she’s really doing this. She rubs his erection between her thighs, and when he moans, he loosens his grip on her. Hornet’s hunting instincts kick in. She flips him onto his back, pinning him by the wrists and straddling his waist. There’s a noticeable slick on his fingers from where he was touching her, and a startled animal look in his eyes that is honestly quite endearing.

Now that she’s on top, she gets a clear view of his heaving chest and his erection, which has now extended fully from its crimson sheath. The end is tapered with a small but visible opening, with ridges all the way to the base. Hornet once again brings her thighs together, so that the quivering length is trapped between them. Because of their size difference, she has to let go of his hands, but he does not try to resume control. If she were feeling generous, she’d say that he was letting her.

But they make eye contact, and they both know that she has Grimm under her thumb. Even Higher Beings can be brought to their knees, and this appears to be his particular weakness.

“By the way,” Hornet begins. She squeezes her thighs together, and Grimm utters a weak cry. “Is this an ovipositor, or…?”

“We’re about to find out,” Grimm croaks.

“You mean you don’t know?” Hornet parts her thighs to take the warm length in her hand. When she thumbs the opening, Grimm squirms. “_Oh_. You’re quite sensitive, yourself. Does this feel good?”

Grimm’s breath hitches when she strokes him, and he nods. “Not so shy anymore, are you?” he remarks. He lays a hand on her thigh, caressing it with her thumb.

“As a matter of fact, no.” Hornet sits up on her knees, so she may produce several feet of silken thread. “If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to tie you up after all.”

“Are you sure that’s enough to contain me? It would take merely a breath of fire to ruin your hard work.” He stays on his back, watching her coil the thread around her hand until it is several fingers thick. She suspects it’s longer than she is tall, but then again, Grimm is twice her height. This might not even be enough.

“We’ll see,” is all Hornet says. It would’ve taken both her arms just to lift one of his legs, had he not supported his weight. She ties both of them knee to thigh, with elaborate braided knots going down to his ankles. It’s the first time she has tried this out on a living bug. On days when she had nothing to do, she’d dress her meals up in fine silk packaging before eating them. It didn’t affect the taste, but it looked good. Presentation is important. For that reason, she takes her time binding his wrists to each other. He is her own personal specimen when she’s done, with his arms over his head and legs splayed over the sheets.

Grimm tests the knots and with a casual amount of pressure, is hardly able to move his wrists. Appearing satisfied with this, he asks Hornet with a wide smirk, “Who in the world taught you to do this?”

“No one! Now hush, before I gag you too.” Hornet puts her fingers to Grimm’s mouth, and he kisses them. Her annoyance had been minimal, but is now gone, when he slides his tongue on the underside of her forefinger. With a tightness in her chest, she slides her hand forward. Her knowledge of knot-tying doesn’t translate to an understanding of sexual matters; her scope of such is so limited that she not once considered the eroticism of a foreign tongue scraping over her body. She almost wishes she hadn’t tied him up, just so she could feel him taste the rest of her.

Then she looks between his legs, and decides that she made a good decision after all. With both hands braced on his chest, she lowers herself against his length. It is made slick from her drooling slit, and even warmer from being pushed against Grimm’s torso. The Higher Being whimpers beneath her while she grinds her hips, desperate for her to slide it all the way in and make love to him properly, but is it not her turn to tease him?

“My, my. You’re a natural,” Grimm gasps. Hornet digs a finger between the base of his length and his sheath, and his next words die in his mouth. He tosses his head back and mewls as Hornet plays with his opening, rubbing along the inner wall and tracing a line all the way up to the flared tip. She dips her finger inside, and his legs tense against their bonds. One knuckle in he hisses, and she withdraws.

“Was that too much?” Hornet leans over his quivering form. His breath comes out hot and sharp against her, and on a whim, she pecks the corner of his mouth. She apologetically strokes between his legs, until his head lolls sideways, and drool leaks down his cheek. She did this to him, and with such little effort. She reaches between them to stroke his length, and he actually _mewls_.

This is awakening something in her, to her pleasant surprise. “You look like you’re enjoying yourself,” she remarks. Grimm is starting to struggle against the ties on his wrists, quickly reducing her beautiful handiwork to flaky ash.

The moment he’s free, his hands are on her thighs, then her waist, carefully dragging her up to his shoulders. Hornet allows this. She kneels over him, clutching one of his hands, aware and embarrassed of his labored breath against her inner thighs.

“Only because I’ve had such a lovely lady attending to me.” Through his smile, he kisses up her thigh until she can feel him against her slit. Her legs quiver as he draws his tongue against, and then inside of her. He starts off slowly to warm her up, but as he laps at her, he grows more desperate for her taste. No matter how out of breath he is when he pulls back, he invariably presses his mouth flush against her. Hornet takes one of his horns and begins to grind against his mouth, reveling in his muffled cries.

At some point, Grimm lifts her off of him and sits up. The silk around his legs had burned up, but Hornet doesn’t know when. Her body is hot and her head is spinning, even as she lies still on her side. Grimm twines his arms around her from behind, tall enough to comfortably curl around her body. This whole time, she has not removed her cloak. Grimm undoes the buttons at the neck, revealing her slim shoulders for him to caress. As he uncovers more of her, his length grows harder between her thighs.

He does not push into her all at once. First it’s just the tip, while he drops her garb over the side of the bed. He laces his fingers between hers, murmuring sweet things to her between his blissful gasps. Hornet can feel that he’s melting, and kisses the back of his hand. It occurs to her that he’s inside of her up to the hilt, but the timidity that grasps her is not the anxiety she came to him with. It is like a deep hum in her chest, noticeable but not uncomfortable. She pushes her face into the nearest pillow as Grimm rocks his hips. He never pulls out completely, or even halfway, even when easing her onto her stomach.

Hornet turns her head to the side, and sees his cloak—no, his wings—flare up as he takes her from behind. His eyes are screwed up with delight and great effort. His hands, splayed on either side of her, shake from holding himself up. Hornet tugs at his arm until he collapses against her. She pushes her hips up against him as best as she can under his weight, arousing helpless moans from the both of them.

Grimm, vulnerable Grimm, shudders and releases into her. His length swells and ejects several round, warm somethings inside of her. Hornet sees stars when she feels them settle into her womb, and through the haze of pleasure, remembers why she sought Grimm out in the first place: eggs. She needed a mate.

They’re both still for what feels like a while, and during this pause, the world returns to her. Light rain whips against the tent from outside, and she no longer hears the accordion. There’s a slight aftertaste of wine in her mouth, and a sheen of sweat on the back of her neck. Grimm rolls off of her to retract his ovipositor, which disappears as if it had never been there. He winces when it does, and she rubs soothingly at the plating between his legs.

“Well, well,” Grimm breathes. His eyes are half-lidded, and his body looks like it’s going to melt into the comforters. “You’ve done excellent, my darling. No, it’s quite alright. Allow me.”

He pulls a blanket atop them, and presses his warm palm to her abdomen. “You’ll have to forgive me. I, ah, I’ve no stamina for these indulgences, as it turns out. I’ve seldom a reason for...ohhh…”

He closes his eyes and brings Hornet into his arms. Truthfully, she had expected to leave after the deed had been done. This isn’t a relationship.

But if it were nothing more than a deal, she wouldn’t have regretted him falling asleep so quickly. She still has things to say and questions to ask. There’s no dancing around it: this is a relationship. It is progressing outrageously out of order, but it is a relationship nonetheless.

Hornet closes her eyes and nestles against him. When he wakes up, she’d like to hear his opinion on the matter.


End file.
